


the best kind of strange

by endlessnighttimesky



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Crying, Established Relationship, M/M, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnighttimesky/pseuds/endlessnighttimesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is just about to unpack one of his five hundred suitcases – because fuck if he’s ever going to walk around in the same shirt for two weeks again, he did that enough when they had the van – when he hears a dull clatter from the bedroom.</p><p>He nibbles at his lip ring thoughtfully, not entirely sure if the reason to why he follows the noise is to escape unpacking, or if it’s just because he knows it’s Gerard who’s making it. In the bedroom. Which has a bed. In which they haven’t fucked yet because they’ve only been home for about twenty hours. Which really isn’t an excuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best kind of strange

Frank is just about to unpack one of his five hundred suitcases – because fuck if he’s ever going to walk around in the same shirt for two weeks again, he did that enough when they had the van – when he hears a dull clatter from the bedroom.

He nibbles at his lip ring thoughtfully, not entirely sure if the reason as to why he follows the noise is to escape unpacking, or if it’s just because he knows it’s Gerard who’s making it. In the bedroom. Which has a bed. In which they haven’t fucked yet because they’ve only been home for about twenty-four hours. Which really isn’t an excuse.

 _Why aren’t we fucking, anyway?_  Frank wonders. Even when they’re stuck in the bus and they’re not eating or sleeping or watching too many horror movies, they fuck. Frank stopped counting the times any of the others yelled, “Get a room!” after the first week.

But now they’re home, in their ridiculously large apartment that Gerard insisted on buying. He said it was so that he wouldn’t mess the whole place up when he paints. Frank still wakes up to flecks of paint in his coffee though, because apparently Gerard doesn’t only lack comprehension regarding the concept of personal hygiene – which is why he’s already finished unpacking, the dirty bastard – he also doesn’t understand how to keep a home (or anything similar to one – you should’ve seen the bus) clean enough to avoid death by toxin ingestion.

Anyway, the point is, they’re home, in their own apartment, with a huge bed and a locked door and phone cords that can be pulled out would it become necessary. So the question is, what the hell is Frank doing? They’ve got all of this, and he is making mountains of laundry in the living room? Sometimes his own stupidity baffles Frank.

He’s not going to just attack Gerard, though. Well, not immediately, because hey, Frank can be patient. Sometimes. Occasionally. Okay, maybe he can’t be patient like Gerard can be patient, he can’t wait and be quiet and sit still at the same time, which apparently people expect him to be able to, what with being five years from thirty and all that. But hey, fuck them, it’s not his fault his size is disproportionate to his energy. He is sick a lot, too, so he has to make up for the several weeks he involuntarily has to spend in bed every year. If he does it by spending even more time in bed then so what.

It’s not until he’s halfway to the bedroom that he realizes Gerard is playing guitar, one of Frank’s old, acoustic ones that he doesn’t know why they keep in the bedroom, but they do. Either way, it makes his heart go all soft and mushy in his chest, and he wonders if this is how Gerard felt when he came out to watch him during the Reggie tour. Probably not, because while Frank was singing (screaming) about killing girls and presidents and earned them a visit from the Secret Service, Gerard actually has a nice melody going, although perhaps a little ragged and out of tune, but whatever, there’s a reason they put him on vocals.

“That sounds good,” Frank says when he appears in the doorway, giving Gerard a heart attack.

“Holy shit,” Gerard says, pressing his hand to his chest like the drama queen he is. “You scared the living shit out of me.”

“No, that’s teenagers,” Frank says matter-of-factly and walks across the room. He sits down in front of Gerard, cross-legged and with his elbows on his knees.

Gerard rolls his eyes, but says, “Well, you can’t blame me for mixing you up.” He rests his arms on the top of the guitar. “You are about the same height.”

“Fuck you too,” Frank replies, because that’s what he always says when someone insults his height. Okay, so sometimes he punches people, but that was mostly when he was a punk ass kid in high school whose only emotions were angry and horny.

“But seriously, though,” he says, curious honesty bleeding through what’s left of the punk ass kid in him, “that was good. Play it again.”

Gerard doesn’t say anything, just glances down and pulls his lower lip into his mouth, chewing nervously on it.

Frank can’t believe him. “I can’t believe you.”

Gerard looks up at him through his messy bangs, somewhat confused and very adorable. “What?”

Frank makes a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. “You can pretend to get fucked in the ass in front of ten thousand people every night but you can’t play a simple melody on guitar in front of your boyfriend.”

Gerard shrugs, but on the inside he’s exploding with all these warm, fuzzy feelings, as he always does when Frank says the word ‘boyfriend’. “I don’t like doing things I’m not good at,” he says, because he was born without a brain-to-mouth filter and doesn’t think before he speaks.

Frank just laughs and leans forward to kiss Gerard’s forehead, before he starts to scramble around on the bed until he’s behind Gerard, sitting with his legs spread out and his back against the headboard.

“C’mere,” he says, reaching forward to grab Gerard’s hips and pull him backwards into the spot between his legs.

Gerard is a little hesitant at first, but once he’s settled in Frank’s lap, he leans back and relaxes, resting his head on Frank’s shoulder.

“Are you bribing me with cuddles?” Gerard asks after a few moments of Frank pecking at his temple, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as the shifts to look back at Frank.

“Is it working?” Frank asks, smiling as he nudges the side of Gerard’s head with his nose, because wow, Gerard has showered. And not just ‘showered’ as in standing under a stream of water for at least five minutes, but actually washed his hair and used shampoo and conditioner and shit. It’s making him smell like strawberries, strawberries and cigarettes and coffee, and it’s a really weird but really nice combination, Frank thinks.

“Yes,” Gerard pouts and adjust his position, wrapping one hand around the neck of the guitar and placing the other over the sound hole. He doesn’t say anything else, just pulls his lip back into his mouth and sinks into Frank, body soft but tense at the same time, meaning he’s concentrating hard.

And wow, does that concentration pay off or what. Gerard only plays a few bars, but all of a sudden Frank – who usually never cries, because dogs dying in movies don’t count, okay? – is tearing up and his faces goes all warm and bloated. That’s Gerard Way for you; making people reevaluate their lives since 1977.

None of that matters though, not to Gerard, because although he hopes that their music maybe saves a few lives, or changes a few people’s view of the world, he’s still too oblivious to actually notice it when it happens. He didn’t even notice it when it happened to himself, for fuck’s sake, how the hell is he going to notice it when it happens to anyone else? It’s not like he doesn’t care – Gerard is the most caring person in the world, Frank thinks, so that’s not the problem at all – but he just doesn’t have enough confidence to believe he’s actually making a difference. I mean, it’s been years, but he still gets all nervous and insecure whenever they’re about to go onstage. Of course, they’re all a little twitchy during the last few minutes before the show starts, but Frank knows it’s different for Gerard. It’s like he still can’t believe that they’ve made it, that they’re here, about to play in front of thousands of people who’ve spent their money and time just to come see them. Frank finds it sad, but he knows that it will take time for Gerard to realize how fucking important he is, how much he matters, if not to the rest of the world, then to him.

Frank’s train of thought is interrupted as Gerard squirms in his arms, and Frank lets one arm slip from around his waist to reach up and wipe at his own eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Are you—,” Gerard begins, now turning around completely so that he is facing Frank. “Are you crying?”

Frank grits out a, “No,” but Gerard is an asshole and just leans forward to kiss his cheek instead, which is actually wet.

Although Gerard is a sensitive guy, he can’t help but let out a hitched laughter, because he thinks this is like, the first time he sees Frank cry. It can’t be more than the third, at least.

“Way to be supportive,” Frank mutters and tugs the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands.

“When have I ever reacted properly to anything,” Gerard says, but it’s not a question, because he already knows that the answer is ‘never’; he doesn’t need Frank to confirm it for him. “I’ve just never seen it before, you know?”

Frank smiles, eyes bleary and cheeks flushed. “I know,” he says warmly, grasping for the collar of Gerard’s t-shirt with his fist and pulling him in for a kiss.

“You wanna talk about it?” Gerard asks, turning fully in Frank’s lap to face him, because it wasn’t really a question.

The corners of Frank’s mouth tug upwards slightly at Gerard’s complete obliviousness to the fact that he isn’t really giving Frank a choice here, but he flicks the hair out of his face anyway, pulling it behind his ear. It’s getting long; he hasn’t cut it in months, didn’t bother doing it before they went touring. He should ask Gerard’s mom to do it the next time they see her.

“It’s just everything, you know?” Frank says, knowing Gerard will force him to elaborate if he doesn’t do it voluntarily. “I mean, we barely spent a month in this place before we went out. I haven’t gotten used to it yet, I guess. And touring was different too, knowing what I would come back to. What  _we_  would come back to. It’s… strange.”

Gerard is silent for a few seconds and then hums thoughtfully, bringing up Frank’s hand to his face so he can bite on the sleeve of his hoodie while he thinks. Absentmindedly he brings his knees to his chest to support Frank’s arm, and Frank laughs quietly, watching Gerard float off into his own mind for a while. He thinks it’s amazing that he can do that, just shut everything off for a while and just think. Frank wishes he could do it.

“And then your song,” Frank continues as the gleam of consciousness returns to Gerard’s eyes. “It just— it got too much, I guess.”

Gerard smiles, wide and warm and Frank can’t believe Gerard is his and one else’s. “If I knew I could do that, I would’ve figured out something much sooner.”

Frank cocks his eyebrow. “You get off on seeing your boyfriend cry, or what?”

Gerard smirks. “Nah,” he says, reaching out to wrap his fingers in the fabric of Frank’s hoodie as he pushes the guitar behind him. “I do get off on the word ‘boyfriend’ though.”

Frank brings his hands up to cup Gerard’s face, mumbling against his lips, “I knew you had a thing for that. I _knew_ _it_.”

“As if you don’t have any weird kinks,” Gerard retorts, poking Frank in the chest before he unzips his hoodie.

Frank grins into the side of Gerard’s neck. “Well, you’re my kink, and you’re pretty weird, so…”

“Shut up.”

Frank leans back, grinning a, “Make me,” and that’s all it takes; Gerard is over him in a few seconds, knocking him flat on the bed as his frantic hands work to get all of Frank’s clothes off at the same time, which, undoubtedly, doesn’t end very well.

“It’s been twenty-four fucking hours,” Gerard groans as Frank tells him to calm down. “I’m beyond calm.”

“I know,” Frank says sympathetically, because he knows, he really fucking knows. But then again, someone has to be the voice of reason in this relationship. “But you trying to tear my clothes off isn’t going to speed up anything.”

Gerard leans back, eyes narrow. “Are you doubting my strength?”

Frank grins and lies down sideways across the bed, feet dangling off the edge and Gerard’s knees poking him in the side. “I’m more doubting your ability to refrain from actually tearing our clothes to pieces. I just bought these pants.”

“They’re too tight,” is Gerard’s only comment before he’s at it again, clawing every scrap of fabric off Frank’s body. Frank rolls his eyes.

“You’re not the one who spent ages trying to get off your fucking spray-on pants after every goddamn show,” Frank retorts, but lifts his ass to allow Gerard to pull his jeans down and off.

Gerard throws a leg over Frank’s thighs, straddling him as his hands shoot out to catch the hem of Frank’s t-shirt and pull it up over his head.

“Was worth it though,” Gerard mumbles against Frank’s neck before he straightens momentarily to get his own t-shirt off. “So fucking worth it,” he finishes, lips pressing against the hot skin on Frank’s neck, tongue tracing the scorpion there.

Frank only manages a hitched moan as an answer, because Gerard’s got some serious suction there. Frank’s learned that Gerard is competitive with this shit, even though there isn’t really anyone for him to challenge. Either way, he’s not going to stop until there’s a nice, dark bruise. Should Frank's internal jugular vein be drained of blood, then… well, it’s impossible to fight a war without casualties.

Frank is far from protesting though, wouldn’t even think of it because — “Oh god.”

He can feel Gerard’s lips form into a smile over his pulse point before he resumes his journey down Frank’s neck, tongue swiping over the nape and down to his collarbone, licking up the beads of sweat pooling there.

Gerard is grinding against him now, hard-on pressing into his hip. Frank ruts back up into the thigh Gerard has between his legs, but the friction isn’t enough for either of them. Frank sneaks his hand down to unzip Gerard’s jeans, leaving the other to tangle in his hair.

After all the time they’ve spent cramped up in their bunks, they’ve gotten amazingly efficient, and now that Gerard isn’t stressing it, his clothes slide off as easily as water over stones in a river. They end up on the floor together with Frank’s discarded items, and since the apartment is fucking cold – why Frank trusted Gerard to call the landlord before they got back to turn on the heat is beyond him – they creep beneath the covers instead.

 “Have waited so fucking long for this,” Gerard says, voice low and hoarse as he licks a wet stripe down Frank’s chest, detouring to wrap his lips around his nipples. “No bunk, no band mates, no interviews or shows. Just you and me and a huge fucking bed.”

Frank just moans; any speech capabilities he has disappears as soon as Gerard mouths over his cock, breath hot and wet though the thin fabric of Frank's boxers. He wants to curse, but all his body manages is yet another breathy moan, only hinting the syllables of the filth his vocal cords should but can’t produce.

Gerard’s fingers hook over the waistband of Frank’s boxers and a groan gets stuck in Frank’s chest. He wants to watch Gerard, wants to see his own cock disappear between his lips, but his eyes slip shut the moment Gerard licks the head, an involuntary reaction to the massive sensory overload.

When he gets his eyelids under control again, Gerard is taking him deep, his wet, swollen mouth stretched tight around the base of Frank’s dick, the tip of his nose brushing the coarse hairs around it. Frank can feel the head of his cock rubbing against the back of Gerard’s throat as he bobs up and down, swallowing around it and making Frank’s skin throb with want.

“Fuck, Gee,” he moans, breath hitching on the nickname. “Your mouth – oh god, Gerard, fuck.”

Gerard looks up at Frank, darkened eyes obscured by the hair falling in his eyes, before he pulls off with a pop Frank has now learned isn’t just a porno sound effect.

Frank can’t help but buck up slightly at the loss of contact, but Gerard only gropes around in the nightstand for a few seconds before returning with a condom and a bottle of lube. He slicks his fingers up, putting his other hand on Frank’s hip to keep him on the mattress.

Gerard takes his time preparing Frank; they’re still tired, jet-lagged and aching, and doing this in anything but a slow pace is probably physically impossible, considering how they’ve thrown themselves around on stage almost every night for the past weeks.

There’s also the fact that for the first time in months there is no hurry, no need to suppress any moans, not only a bunk curtain separating them from the rest of the band. Instead there’s a locked front door, a house phone that’s probably still redirected to Gerard’s cell, and thick walls together with neighbors that are probably working, because it’s the middle of they day and not everyone’s a rock star.

When Gerard curls his fingers in that perfect way, Frank’s eyes slip close once again, and all he can feel is just that, how Gerard’s fingers inside him are creating this sensation that rushes up his spine, only to makes stars dance behind his eyelids and his skin feel like it’s going to melt off his bones.

“Please,” Frank pants, writhing around on the sweat-soaked sheets as the pad of Gerard’s fingers brush that spot inside him for whatever number it is in order. He can’t count, doesn’t think his brain is able to focus on anything except the information it’s receiving from his nerve endings.

“Please,” he repeats, voice even more broken. “Gerard, fuck — fuck me. Please. Now, p-please.”

Gerard presses his fingers against Frank’s prostate a last time, making Frank squirm, before pulling them out. Frank whines at the sudden emptiness, but Gerard is nothing if not a quick motherfucker, because he doesn’t give Frank a chance to verbally complain before he pushes the tip of his cock against his ass.

Frank somehow finds the strength to throw his leg over Gerard’s shoulder, making it easier for his body to adjust to the intrusion.

Gerard goes slowly, burying his cock inside Frank once inch at a time. Frank is as tight and hot as ever, clenching around Gerard in the way he’s gotten so used to during the past couple of years.

When he’s finally all the way in, Frank moans in that satisfied, happy way only he can, drawn-out and low and almost making Gerard believe he just saved the world or something.

Frank extends one arm, catching the back of Gerard’s neck in his cupped hand and pulls him down for a kiss. Gerard braces himself over Frank, elbows digging into the mattress and Frank’s leg slipping from his shoulder to hook around his waist. He presses his heel into the small of Gerard’s back, driving him in deeper and holding him there while they kiss. Then he relaxes, letting Gerard thrust into him, slow but firm and so fucking good.

It’s not long before they both feel like they’re going to explode, like their bones will shatter with the pleasure and their skin will melt with the heat. Frank’s cock is aching, the friction as it rubs between their stomachs far from enough. Gerard notices this, feels Frank buck up into him when he’s not pushing down onto his cock, and leans on one arm to snake the other down between their sweaty chests.

Frank hisses as Gerard wraps his hand around his cock, pants as Gerard sets up a rhythm to match the one he’s fucking Frank with, moans when he flicks his wrist and thumbs the slit.

Frank soon feels the familiar heat spread through his body, originating in his belly and fanning out through his limbs. Gerard jerks him until he’s spilled everything he’s got over their stomachs and Gerard’s hand, and then Gerard comes himself, set off by the clenching of Frank’s ass around his cock.

He pulls out only once he’s completely spent, and Frank makes a low complaining noise, but Gerard is by his side in no time and it turns into a satisfied sigh instead.

Frank snuggles up as close as possible, legs tangling with Gerard’s and body curled tight against his chest.

“It’s a good strange though, right?” Gerard says after a couple of quiet moments, voice muffled against Frank’s damp hair.

Of course. Of fucking course. Frank should’ve known, should have  _known_ , that Gerard would get stuck on that.  Frank thinks he should’ve learned by now, what not to say to avoid Gerard getting all worried. He hasn’t though, apparently, but then again it was Gerard who tried to rip off his clothes first. Either way, he makes it up by tipping his head back and catching Gerard’s lips in a lazy, open-mouthed kiss, which Frank smiles into.

Frank pulls back a little, looks up into Gerard’s eyes, which have lost their previous darkness to make place for what Frank can only interpret as pure bliss.

Frank smiles again, wide and honest and just fucking happy, and he promises Gerard, “It’s the best kind of strange.”


End file.
